


Closer To Heaven

by coloursflyaway



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Gags, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Submissive Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:24:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is on an undercover mission as a priest and Eggsy always had a bit of a thing for confessional booths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer To Heaven

„Forgive me father, for I have sinned.“   
The voice sounds familiar, and yet it takes Harry a second or two to recognise it – not because he doesn’t know it well enough, but because he has never, under no circumstances, expected to hear it here. Back home in London, yes, in his office, asking if he wants a cup of tea, in his bed, moaning or yawning or whispering something sweet, but not in the small town of Larkhall, Scotland, in the Larkhall Baptist Church.  
“Eggsy?”, he asks, although he should stay silent, hears the boy chuckle in response; he knew he had missed Eggsy before, but it’s only now that he realises how much.

“Isn’t this supposed to be an anonymous thing?”, Eggsy asks, a smile still audible in his voice, and Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes.   
“Aren’t you supposed to be, well, anywhere but here? I’m undercover, in case you missed the briefing.”  
“I didn’t”, Eggsy replies and leans against the little grate between them, fingertips coming out between the wooden beams and Harry can’t help but reach up and fit his hand over them, relishing the little bit of contact. “I’m not here as Gawain either, ‘s just me. Took a day off after the last mission so I could come here and see you. Well. At least see a bit of you, hear you, because it’s better than nothin’.”

There is just a hint of desperation in Eggsy’s voice, and Harry understands it completely; ever since he got out of hospital after V Day and they got together, they haven’t been apart for more than a few days at a time, and now Harry has been gone for almost a month. And although Harry has always prided himself on his professionalism, he can’t help but be happy to have Eggsy here.  
He wants to tell Eggsy that, maybe add that he has missed him, but then the boy says, almost casually, “Also I always had a bit of a thing for priests, so I thought I’d pop by and take advantage of your cover.”

“What?” The words has left Harry’s lips before he can stop himself; they are still rather new to their relationship, have never discussed anything in this direction, and here Eggsy is, telling him… this.   
“Yeah. Back when I was in school, we had this priest who came there to do counselling, and God, I had such a crush on him. Looked a bit like you, actually, brown hair and dark eyes, and his arms… I swear, I had dreams about those arms. Very nice dreams.”  
“Oh?” Harry knows what Eggsy is getting at; he knows the signs, the lingering hint of heat in the boy’s voice. “Like?”  
“There were so many…”

Eggsy is shifting in his seat, and suddenly, Harry can see him behind the grate, not the few freckles on his cheeks and nose, not the precise colour of his eyes, but the line of his jaw and the cupid’s bow of his lips, enough to make him recognise Eggsy, even behind all that wood.   
“One of my favourites, though, went like this”, Eggsy continues, and now his voice is lower, sweeter. “It’s early in the morning and the church is empty, except for the two o’ us. He’s in the confession booth, waiting for one of his flock to tell him their sins, and I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself. So I open the door to his side of the booth, in my school uniform, since I have to go to class afterwards, slip inside.”  
It’s embarrassing, but Harry can feel himself reacting to what isn’t even dirty talk yet; he is only glad that there are no sensors on him that could record his heartbeat and give Merlin more blackmail material than he already has.   
“He protests, of course, but I shut him up with a kiss, y’know the kind, wet and filthy.”

By now, Eggsy is almost purring, pink lips moving behind the dark wood, and yes, Harry does know that kind of kiss, longs for it now, but Eggsy doesn’t move, just continues talking.   
“All the while, I undo my tie, and once I have to break the kiss, I stuff the tie in his mouth. Because he can’t make a sound, can he? The walls of these things aren’t thick enough that they’d block out moans, or gasps.”  
Harry can feel the boy’s fingers moving against his palm for a second, then they’re gone, replaced by the warm, slick sensation of Eggsy’s tongue teasing his fingertips. The sensation, no matter how small, is enough to make Harry’s breath hitch in his throat, reminding him how long it has been since he has been able to touch his darling boy properly, since he has come because of someone else’s touch.

“See?”, Eggsy mutters softly, sweetly, his breath hot and wet against Harry’s skin. “You need a gag too, don’t you?”  
“Perhaps?”   
His voice is shaking and Harry thinks he should hate it, but doesn’t, a lot is different with Eggsy than it was with his former partners. No one else he would have allowed to tie him up, and yet he knows that, if Eggsy came into his booth now, tie in his hand, he’d let the boy gag him with it.   
The thought sends a jolt of unfamiliar heat through him; his answer draws a reaction from Eggsy too, a soft sound he almost feels more than hears, a huff of breath against his fingertips.

“Fuck, I wish I could.” There is a second of silence, then Eggsy continues, “If I could, I would right now, stuff my tie in your mouth while you still in you cassock, the rosary around your neck. Maybe I’d keep that on you, maybe I’d take it off… maybe put it around your wrists, keeping them together so you can’t touch.”  
It sounds like Eggsy is making this up as he goes now, like he’s surprised himself by how much he enjoys it, but he’s not alone: this is something Harry never considered. And yet, it is exciting, more so than he ever thought possible.

A sound escapes him, reminding Harry that he is not really gagged yet, and he curls his fingers around the bars of the grate, the tips brushing against Eggsy’s cheeks, the soft skin and the hint of stubble.   
He’s half hard underneath his cassock already, although Eggsy has only been talking, and only for such a short time, and yet he feels like he’s been set on fire, like a single spark could make him explode. Like Eggsy has tapped into some hidden longing he never knew he felt. Still, or maybe because of it, Harry cups his cock through the fabric with the hand he hasn’t pressed to the grate, feeling filthy although he’s no priest, never will be.

“You’d look so good, Harry”, Eggsy breathes and he can feel the boy’s jaw move against his fingertips. “At my mercy, although we both would know you could free yourself at any time. Being good for me, just for me… and I’d reward that, oh, I would.”  
The boy inhales shakily, and it’s good to know that Eggsy is just as affected by this as he is himself, makes Harry’s blood run even hotter. He wants to say something, but doesn’t know what, so instead he keeps quiet, palms his cock through his cassock, feeling it harden.  
“Are you wearing anythin’ under that cassock?”, Eggsy asks, and Harry groans, tightens his grip around his cock.

“A shirt”, he answers; suddenly speaking is easy, because Eggsy has asked a question. “Underwear. Nothing else.”  
“Oh _shit_.” Eggsy’s breath comes in a gasp, hot and sweet against Harry’s fingers. “I wish I could touch you right now. Slide my hands up your thighs, spread your legs wide open for me… fuck, I’d leave marks all over your thighs, leave you a reminder that I was there.”  
It’s that spark he needed to make the low thrum of lust explode into something fierce, something that burns white-hot, a need he has never felt before. The thought of Eggsy kneeling between his legs, his own wrists tied and the boy’s tie stuffed into his mouth to keep him quiet, mark after mark being sucked to his skin, it’s too much, it’s not enough.

“Can I touch myself?”, he asks in a rush of breath, a question he hasn’t asked since he was fourteen, being seduced by the woman who should have taught him Arabic instead of the wonders of oral sex.   
It makes Eggsy stop completely, no huff of breath warming Harry’s skin, and for a second, he wonders if he has gone too far. Maybe it’s nothing Eggsy really wants to do, maybe it’s just the fantasy that arouses him, not someone who is twice his age asking for his permission.   
Just for a second, though, then Eggsy lets out a string of curses, all of them mashed together into one breath, ending it with, “Yes, Harry, God, of course.”

Harry doesn’t waste a second, his eyes still fixed on Eggsy’s face behind the grate, even if he has to break their contact, fingertips still tingling with the warmth of the boy’s skin while he pushes the cassock up until he can free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He hisses, can’t help but, and Eggsy, half-hidden by the grate, moans at the sight of it, louder again when Harry wraps his fingers around it, gives himself a slow stroke.   
“I wish I could suck you off right now”, Eggsy tells him breathlessly, and Harry groans, grips his shaft tighter, strokes from the base to the head and back down again, precome slicking up his palm. “I’d make it slow, tease you… just kiss the head of your cock, trail my lips along the shaft, suck on your balls until your beggin’ me to blow you properly.”

There is no second he doubts that Eggsy could make him beg – he is close to do so now, and they have hardly even touched. Instead of begging, Harry moans, a low, desperate sound that draws a similar one from Eggsy’s lips, which still look so temptingly pink, so soft.   
“Oh, Harry… you have to be quiet, we don’t wanna be discovered, right?”, Eggsy mutters through the grate, his voice soft like velvet, deep with desire. “Can you be good for me, or do I really have to gag you?”

It should be a threat, but by God, it doesn’t sound like it. Instead, it sounds a bit like a promise, causes another moan to fall from Harry’s lips; it is just as helpless, as desperate, as ridiculous coming from a man of his age, his experience.   
But it seems like it’s what Eggsy wanted,  because his boy’s tone is warm, is soft and still sharp with desire when he continues, making Harry wonder just when he became so self-assured, so strong. “Well then… I want you to take the hem of your cassock and bite down on it. Hard. Keep it between your teeth and then put your hand on your cock again. You can stroke yourself, I don’t mind, as long as you imagine it’s my mouth around you instead.”

The words make Harry shudder, his mind caught somewhere between confusion and arousal, an underlying desire to do just as Eggsy has asked making him move before he has realised it. The fabric of the cassock feels strange against his lips, his tongue, but he bites down on it anyway, the cloth easily swallowing the moan that escapes him at something as mundane as following a request. An order.

Like this, his cock is on display, making Harry feel more vulnerable than he ever could naked, but it’s worth the muttered curses the sight draws from Eggsy, the way he leans closer still, as if he was just as desperate to get his mouth on Harry as Harry is for a touch, any touch.   
“You look so good like this”, he tells him, and the words set Harry aflame, hands scrambling to wrap around his cock again, one closing fingers around his shaft, the other cupping his balls, squeezing them. Faintly, he is aware that Eggsy has changed position that his voice is sounding choked, that he’s breathing hard. His boy is touching himself watching him, and Harry is ready to beg for anything Eggsy is willing to give him. “Perfect, even, and all for me… imagine it’s me in front of you, Harry, my mouth instead of your hand, my fingers.”

He can see Eggsy’s lips moving behind the grate, the elegant slope of his jaw, the glittering of his green eyes visible even in the dim light of the booth, and the knowledge that Eggsy is getting off on this as much as he is makes it better, sends sparks of pure lust through Harry, sharp and so intense they take his breath away. Again, he lets out a sound, shivers at how muffled his voice sounds.   
How he can have lived fifty-six years without ever feeling like this before, without wanting it, he doesn’t know, but now that he has had a taste, Harry doesn’t know if he’ll be able to go back.

His hand tightens with the next stroke upwards, a twist of his wrist when he comes to the head, and Harry can feel his balls draw up, his muscles tensing in expectation of what is to come. He should never let it come this far, he knows it – it’s beyond unprofessional, could put the whole mission at risk  - and yet he can’t regret it, not with Eggsy’s eyes burning so hotly, his own arousal so intense it makes breathing difficult.   
And not when Eggsy tangles his fingers into the grate again, brings his lips as close to it as possible, lets them form the words, “Come for me.”

It should take more than this, but it doesn’t; Harry’s hand speeds up, and two, three, four strokes later, he’s gone. Although he wants to keep his eyes open, drink in Eggsy’s face, they flutter shut, his whole existence concentrated on the pleasure wrecking through him, making his skin tingle, his body jerk with every spurt of come.   
The added slickness is making it better, even filthier, and Harry knows that, if it wasn’t for the cassock still stuffed in his mouth, he’d be making enough sound to alert everyone around of their presence.

Eggsy must have followed only seconds afterwards, for when Harry comes back to himself, he can hear the boy suck in breath after breath, calming himself down again. It takes a few seconds until he can move again, can think, but when the last aftershocks have faded, Harry opens his eyes to find Eggsy’s again, their green faded to almost black and half-lidded, his pink lips parted and Harry has never wanted to touch anyone as much as he wants to touch Eggsy now.  
He opens his mouth, the cassock slipping from between his teeth and pooling around his hips, but there are no words he can think of to say, just one name. “Eggsy…”

The boy is looks sated, like a predator would after a successful hunt, and although it’s almost impossible to move, Harry reaches up to touch his hand to Eggsy’s fingers, no sparks being passed from the other’s skin to his, but the kind of warmth he has been associating with Eggsy for so long now.   
“Come home soon”, Eggsy tells him, and Harry can’t do anything but nod, make a soft, disappointed sound when the boy pulls his hand away, breaking the bit of contact they have. “Once you do, we can try this again, but properly this time. If you want to.”  
He’s uncertain, but eager, and the tone of his voice warms Harry’s heart; he nods and watches Eggsy beam behind the grate, a mischievous hint in the curl of his lips.   
“Oh, and by the way. These things, the booths, they’re completely soundproof. Just for future reference.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


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